


now i'm sick, throwing fits

by crankipli3r



Series: Who Kidnapped Markiplier? [3]
Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Recovery, The violence is in the nightmare, They love each other so much, drug mention, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankipli3r/pseuds/crankipli3r
Summary: “Hey,” Ethan says, carefully laying his head on Mark’s chest and curling up against his uninjured side. He rests a gentle hand over Mark’s heart. “You okay?”Mark nods, pressing a kiss into Ethan’s hair and closing his eyes. “‘M fine. I was just thinking ‘bout how much I love you and how I’d do anything for you. ‘Specially if you were sick or hurt like I am.”Ethan is silent for several heartbeats. When he finally responds, it’s with a soft kiss to Mark’s cheek and a whispered, “I know, babe. Go to sleep.”------Mark's only a few weeks into his recovery, so nightmares are to be expected. He didn't expect any along these lines, though.





	now i'm sick, throwing fits

**Author's Note:**

> well well well, i'm back at it again i guess. i just can't get enough of these precious boys. eventually i'll write something involving the two of them that isn't set in this 'verse, but for now i'm having fun, so. :)
> 
> thanks so much for all the love on the first two installments of this series!! the comments and kudos really make my day. i didn't expect anyone to read these at all, so thank you all so much. <3333333333 hope you like this short and sweet offering!!
> 
> so i've kinda decided the series isn't gonna be strictly chronological. hence, while the second part took place two months after mark's ordeal, this one takes place about three weeks after. just fyi.
> 
> title still from "11 minutes" by halsey and yungblood.

Recovery isn’t a straight line. It can sometimes be flattened into one with some effort and imagination, but typically, recovery involves many ups and downs and backtracks and loops. Especially if you’re recovering from being kidnapped and tortured for several hours on camera. 

Mark is coming to learn this first-hand, and he doesn’t like it much. 

The first week after he’d been rescued from the hands of the Strahms in that cellar, he was laid up in a hospital bed and on so much medication it was hard for him to feel much of anything. Once he’d been released, he’d had to cope with trying to return to “normal life” — most importantly, posting a couple update tweets and fielding concerned calls from his stepmom, Sean, Felix, and others who hadn’t been able to get to Boston to see him. He’d been able to function at a base level, but he’d stayed mostly immobile in his hotel room with Ethan by his side for 10 days. 

And thank god for Ethan, honestly — without him around to help with getting dressed and bathing and changing bandages (an unexpectedly excruciating process that came to be dreaded), Mark has no idea how he would’ve managed to take care of himself. He would’ve forgotten his medication schedule half the time if it weren’t for Ethan being ready with a pill and a cup of water before Mark even realized he needed them. 

It’s also a perk that Ethan’s willing to provide gentle cuddles and reassuring kisses on demand. Mark takes every ounce of affection he can get and savors it, letting it soak like a salve into every burn and laceration marring his body. 

There’s one aspect of his recovery that Mark hates above all the others. He’s been through mind-numbing pain before, some worse than this, so he has coping methods he can employ. The thing he hasn’t really experienced before — apart from dealing with his father’s death, to an extent — is the mental repercussions of what he’s gone through. The first day he’d spent out of the hospital, Mark had experienced vivid flashbacks triggered by dim lighting, car engines revving, seat belts, and alcohol ads. His first night sleeping in the hotel bed beside Ethan, he’d had a nightmare so graphic it had taken hours for him to calm down enough to fall back asleep. For Mark, these repercussions of his ordeal are the most exhausting. 

Mark knows it’s textbook PTSD. It’s a natural response to the trauma he’s endured; the doctors he’d talked to at Massachusetts General had told him as much. In response, the first thing he did when he got home to L.A. was start looking online, with Ethan’s help, for a psychiatrist he’d be able to see a few times a week to talk through everything. By this point, he’s been home for five days and narrowed his search to two kind-faced female doctors a few miles from his house. 

“I think I’m leaning towards Dr. VanDrunen myself,” Ethan says from the desk in Mark’s room. He’s busy editing the brief update vlog Mark had filmed a couple hours ago, trying to make it short and sweet while skillfully trimming out the parts where Mark had had trouble speaking from nerves. 

“Yeah?” Mark asks, scrolling through the doctor’s website on his bed. “Me too. Her specialty in trauma kinda outdoes Dr. Cooper.”

Ethan nods. “I think she’ll be nice. And honestly, talking to any professional will help you at this point.”

“Trust me, I know.” Mark sighs and puts his phone down, rubbing his tired eyes beneath his glasses. “God, I’m exhausted. I don’t know why I thought it’d be a good idea to fucking film today.”

“I know it was draining, but I think everyone’s gonna be glad to see you,” Ethan assures him, cutting out a short clip of Mark jumping from a sudden noise. “And you don’t have to film anything else until you’re ready, however long that takes. They’re all being super supportive and patient.”

“They’re too good to me,” Mark mutters. He picks at the blanket draped over his legs and wishes he could let Chica up on the bed to cuddle with him. Unfortunately, he’d been told by the doctors in Boston that letting an energetic dog jump on him in this state wouldn’t be the best idea. He’s pet her tons since he’s been home, of course, but she’s still too wiggly and excitable to snuggle. 

Ethan shakes his head and sighs. “You deserve their support, you dingus. Shut up.” He plays the video through — all three and a half minutes of it — and clicks “Export” before removing his headphones and turning back to Mark. “I think I’ll post it in the morning. D’you wanna get ready for bed?”

As if on cue, Mark yawns loudly, thumping his head against the headboard. “Yeah, definitely,” he says with a drowsy nod. His head is already cloudy, and it’s not just from the oxy he’s taking for the pain in his side. Reaching out to Ethan with grabby hands and fluttering eyelids, he asks, “Help me up?”

Ethan rolls his eyes but gets up from the desk chair with a smile. “Those goddamn puppy eyes are gonna be the death of me, y’know,” he teases as he walks over to the bed. 

“Can’t help that I’m irresistible,” Mark says with a soft laugh. He grasps Ethan’s offered hands and slowly sits up with a couple winces and grunts, swinging his legs to the side so he can stand up. He leans on Ethan for a few seconds as he sways and gets his balance. “Ugh, sorry. Kinda feeling light-headed.”

“You’re exhausted,” Ethan says with that now-familiar loving, concerned look on his face. “C’mon; all you gotta do is brush your teeth and take your meds, and then you can go to sleep.”

“Mm-hmm.” Mark trudges to the bathroom with Ethan close beside him. “Are you staying over again? You really don’t have to. I feel bad for pretty much taking over your life.”

Ethan shakes his head. “I’m here because I want to be, not because I feel like I have to be.” He leans over to kiss Mark’s stubbled cheek, smiling when Mark turns to look him in the eyes. “I love you, remember?”

Mark blushes, but smiles a little. “I couldn’t forget something like that,” he says softly. After a brief moment of hesitation, he leans in for a gentle, grateful kiss. Ethan returns it in full, cupping Mark’s face in his hands. For a few blissful seconds, Mark feels content and in love and  _ normal. _

When the kiss breaks off, Mark nuzzles Ethan’s nose and says, “I love you, too. Go get changed and I’ll meet you in bed in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay. Shout if you need me.” Ethan pecks Mark in the lips one more time, then scampers away to his still-packed suitcase in the corner of the room. 

As Mark brushes his teeth, he can’t help but feel another wave of gratitude for Ethan’s selflessness and support through this mess. He couldn’t imagine having to cope in this big house all by himself. Even though he wants Ethan to take a break and spend some time at his own place with his own dog, Mark also greedily wishes Ethan could be with him all the time to hold him and comfort him and help him get up from his bed. Ethan’s careful hugs and loving kisses are better medicine than any painkiller Mark’s ever been prescribed, and far more addictive.

Mark knows, though, that if it were Ethan recovering from something like this, he’d never want to leave the younger man’s side. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to help ease Ethan’s pain, mental and physical, and he’d have to be literally dragged away from him — probably by Tyler. 

This line of thinking only leads Mark to picture what it would’ve been like to watch Ethan being beaten and tasered on a livestream. Mark’s never seen Ethan in tremendous pain before, but the mere  _ thought _ of it makes his pulse accelerate and his stomach plummet to the soles of his feet. To think of someone hurting such a kind, loving person in any way makes Mark want to throw up in the sink. 

Eventually, Mark shakes that horrid fantasy out of his head and finishes up in the bathroom. When he emerges, Ethan’s already under the covers on “his” side of the bed, and some of the anxiety drains out of Mark at the sight. He shuffles over, climbs into bed beside his boyfriend, and pulls him close. “Hey,” he mumbles into soft brown hair. 

“Hey,” Ethan replies, carefully laying his head on Mark’s chest and curling up against his uninjured side. He rests a gentle hand over Mark’s heart. “You okay?”

Mark nods, pressing a kiss into Ethan’s hair and closing his eyes. “‘M fine. I was just thinking ‘bout how much I love you and how I’d do anything for you. ‘Specially if you were sick or hurt like I am.”

Ethan is silent for several heartbeats. When he finally responds, it’s with a soft kiss to Mark’s cheek and a whispered, “I know, babe. Go to sleep.”

The last thing Mark hears before darkness consumes him is the click of the bedside lamp turning off.

 

* * *

 

_ It’s close to midnight, but the bright headlights and flashing sirens of the fleet of squad cars illuminate everything as they approach the dark backyard. Mark bites his lip and hugs himself tighter, stomach roiling, as the FBI SUV he’s in pulls up to the shabby house in the middle of the county road.  _

_ “He’s gotta be here,” Tyler says from beside him, rubbing his back comfortingly. He sounds anxious himself. “He’s just gotta be. All the evidence and the clues he gave us point to these two psychopaths and this house.” _

_ “I know, I know, I just … god.” Mark runs a hand through his hair and stares out the windshield as the officers and agents get in formation around the cellar doors. “Fuck, I hope he’s okay.” _

_ “He will be,” Tyler says, sounding certain even as his voice shakes. Mark hopes against hope that he’s right. _

_ The two of them watch and listen as an officer gets on a megaphone and orders David and Michael Strahm to come out of the cellar with their hands up. The brothers are hilariously outnumbered, so Mark can only pray they listen to the demand and give up while they can.  _

_ Ten seconds later, the cellar doors burst open and two figures emerge from the ground. One is a man dressed in all black, face concealed by a ski mask, and the other is a beaten and bloodied Ethan.  _

_ Mark gasps and his eyes well up as he takes in the bruises on Ethan’s face and arms, the cuts on his bare chest. It was one thing to see them on a computer screen, but in person … it’s just more real. A wave of nausea washes over him as his eyes fixate on the bloodied towel Ethan’s holding over the deep stab wound in his side. He’s pale and shaking and he looks so close to passing out, but there’s a glimmer of hope on his face.  _

_ Even though he’s pretty much supporting all of Ethan’s weight, the kidnapper turns to look at each of the officers and agents surrounding him. When his back is to the SUV, Mark chokes out a gasp at the sight of a pistol tucked in the back of his pants. “Fuck, Tyler, he’s got a gun, he’s got a —” _

_ “The cops will take him down before he can use it,” Tyler says, but it doesn’t sound like he even believes his own words.  _

_ Members of the SWAT team are shouting almost constantly now, ordering the kidnapper — David, Mark guesses, since there doesn’t seem to be a tumor protruding from his throat — to get rid of the weapon and let Ethan go. But it doesn’t seem to be getting through to him as his movements grow more and more frantic.  _

_ Mark’s heart leaps into his throat when David grabs the gun from his waistband and shoves the barrel into Ethan’s stomach. Ethan’s eyes go wide with terror and Mark grips the car seat in front of him with white knuckles. He can feel Tyler tense beside him, but his eyes are glued to the standoff. _

_ There’s more shouting from cops and the SWAT team, and guns are raised and cocked. Time seems to stand still and the sounds of the sirens fade away.  _

_ Mark isn’t expecting it when David yells something incoherent, tenses his hand, and pulls the trigger of his pistol.  _

_ The sound of the gunshot is the only thing in Mark’s head as he scrambles out of the Suburban and pushes through the horde of armed personnel to reach Ethan. The younger man is now lying on the ground, wheezing, grasping his stomach as it oozes blood. David is being tackled by a SWAT member somewhere off to the side. _

_ “Ethan, oh my god, oh my fucking god,” Mark mutters as he drops to his knees in the bloodied grass and pulls Ethan into his lap. He grabs the towel from Ethan’s side and presses it against the gunshot wound as hard as he can, heart breaking when Ethan whines in pain.  _

_ “M … Mark?” he rasps, speaking through a mouthful of blood. His beautiful blue eyes are glazing over, unfocused and glassy.  _

_ Mark nods and stares down at his friend’s pale face. “It’s me, I’m right here,” he chokes out, only just becoming aware that he’s sobbing. “You’re gonna be okay.” _

_ “You found me.” Ethan blinks slowly and his thin lips turn up in a shadow of a smile. “I knew … you’d find me.” _

_ “I did, and I’m never letting you go again,” Mark says, serious and angry, but not at Ethan — he’s so angry at the situation, at how long it took them to decode everything and put the puzzle pieces together in the right order. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay, I’ve got you.” _

_ “Wanted to tell you something at dinner tonight,” Ethan whispers, his voice fading quickly. Mark presses down harder on the towel and sobs harder, but he tries to listen to Ethan’s words. “I wanted to … to tell you I … love you.” _

_ “Oh …” Mark’s heart shatters irreparably. Tears blur his vision but he blinks them away, not wanting to miss a flicker of emotion on Ethan’s face. “Oh Ethan, I —” _

_ He’s cut off by a coughing fit from Ethan, loud and painful and wet. Blood sprays from his mouth as he convulses in Mark’s arms, face twisted in agony. All Mark can do is hold him through it and try to keep pressure on the still bleeding wound.  _ Where the fuck are the paramedics —

_ When he’s done coughing, Ethan goes completely limp, his breaths rattling and labored. His eyes roll back in his head, and after a few seconds, his chest stills. _

_ Mark just stares. “Ethan?”  _

_ Nothing. No twitch of muscle, no gasp of breath.  _

_ “Ethan.” Mark shakes him a little, staring at his blood-spattered face. “Ethan, c’mon, don’t do this. Don’t …” _

_ But it’s no use. Ethan lies still in Mark’s arms, already growing cold. When Mark presses a shaking, bloodied hand to his neck, there’s no pulse to greet him.  _

_ Mark’s world ends in that moment. “No, no, nononono —” He bends down and buries his face in Ethan’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut as he sobs uncontrollably. “Ethan, E-Ethan, no, no, NO!”  _

_ He didn’t get to tell Ethan he loved him back. He didn’t get to kiss him, or hold him in bed, or take his hand and stand with him through a long, happy life. None of that will ever happen now, and Mark feels the loss like a dagger in the deepest part of his soul. _

_ As the paramedics surround them —  _ too late, too fucking late _ — Mark lets out an anguished wail that drowns out the sirens still blaring around him. _

 

* * *

 

 

Ethan jolts awake to the sound of an ear-splitting screech. His sleep-heavy brain takes a second to spark to life, but when it does, he registers Mark thrashing around beside him. The older man appears to still be asleep, but he’s arching off the bed and screaming at the top of his lungs. When he flicks the bedside light on, Ethan sees there’s tears streaming down Mark’s face. He looks terrified, and Ethan springs into action immediately.

“Mark?!” He sits up, reaches over, and grabs Mark by the shoulders to hold him down. He’s had to do this a few times when Mark’s nightmares have hit, but this seems more intense. “Mark, wake up, c’mon!  _ Mark!” _

It takes a minute of Ethan loudly pleading and trying to shake Mark awake, but Mark’s eyes eventually snap open. He sits up abruptly, panting and staring at nothing for several seconds, until he turns to look at Ethan. He still looks paralyzed with fear and — and unspeakably  _ sad,  _ flushed cheeks streaked with rivers of tears.

Ethan gets up on his knees, cups Mark’s face in shaking hands, and stares into his eyes. “Mark?” he whispers, afraid to spook him further. “Hey, hey, look at me. What —”

Before he can finish the question, Ethan is cut off by Mark  _ lunging _ at him and grabbing him in a fierce hug. He holds on tight, heart aching when Mark starts to sob into his neck and tremble in his arms. Yeah, this seems to be the worst nightmare yet. 

“Shhh, hey,” Ethan murmurs, soft and gentle, as he rubs Mark’s back and tangles a hand in his sleep-mussed hair. “Mark, it’s okay, you’re okay. It was a dream. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“Y-You — You were —” Mark can hardly speak through his tears. “I w-watched —”

“You gotta calm down, sweetheart,” Ethan instructs calmly, the pet name slipping out on instinct. But Mark’s starting to hyperventilate, so he can’t think about it too hard. “Come on, breathe with me, can you do that? In … and out. In … and out.”

Ethan holds Mark close and coaches his breathing for several minutes, all the while racking his brain to think of what on earth his boyfriend’s mind could’ve conjured up to make him react like this. There have been alarming panic attacks after nightmares in the past two weeks, that’s for sure, but none have left Mark in a state of hysteria like this. None of them have inspired Mark to latch on to Ethan quite this tightly, either. 

After about fifteen minutes, Mark’s wild sobbing has devolved into quiet crying and hitches of breath. His hold on Ethan has loosened, but it’s still steadfast, so Ethan doesn’t pull away. He just keeps murmuring comfort into Mark’s ear and waits for Mark to break the embrace — he’s prepared to wait all night if he has to.

It’s another ten minutes before Mark leans back, leaving Ethan’s neck and shoulder soaked. He sniffles and wipes his face with the back of one hand, keeping the other on Ethan’s chest above his heart. “Fuck,” he chokes out, shaking his head and avoiding Ethan’s eyes. “F-Fuck, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“It’s okay, I — what?” Ethan stares at Mark puzzledly, hands still on his shoulders. “Yes, Mark, I’m fine. Why?”

“A-Are you sure?” Mark’s shaking hands rove restlessly over Ethan’s chest and stomach, as though he’s looking for injuries. There's nothing but terror and anxiety on his face. “You’re not hurt? Th-They didn’t get you?”

Ethan shakes his head, starting to understand what’s going on. Curse Mark’s traumatized brain and the convoluted images it creates. “They didn’t get me,” he reassures, grasping Mark’s hands in his own and squeezing tight. “I’m not hurt at all. I’m okay.”

Mark still doesn’t seem entirely settled, but he goes quiet, tears falling silently from his puffy red eyes. He sits back a little further, and that’s when Ethan notices the state of his gray tee shirt. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, letting go of Mark’s hands to press his fingers to the spots of blood blooming on Mark’s chest and side. “Babe, I think you reopened some of these. C’mon, let's get you to the bathroom.”

Trying not to panic, Ethan gets out of the bed and helps Mark stand up. Now that he’s calmed down a bit, the older man appears to feel the pain from his strained injuries, and he stumbles to the bathroom slightly doubled over. 

Once he’s sat Mark down on the closed lid of the toilet, Ethan rummages through the newly-established “bandage drawer” and brings out some supplies. “Lemme just see what’s going on under this, huh?” he asks as he grasps the hem of Mark’s shirt. When he gets a nod, he lifts it up and over Mark’s head to reveal his torso. 

Most of the cuts and burns have healed enough by now to not require bandaging. They’ve left pink lines and splotches in their wake, which Ethan knows Mark hates. The still-vulnerable injuries are the deep slice down his chest, the muscle tears in his pecs and abs, and the stab wound in his left side. From what Ethan can tell, there isn’t any swelling near the muscle tears yet, but the deep cut appears to have reopened and the bandages over the stab wound have come loose. 

Mark is very quiet, staring at the tile floor with his hands clenched in fists on his knees. He’s still crying, and Ethan’s heart aches awfully. 

Tilting Mark’s chin up a bit, Ethan asks, “Does anything hurt besides your side and the cut on your chest?”

Mark thinks for a second or two. “The muscles ache kinda,” he replies after consideration, pressing a hand to his stomach and sniffling. “Think it’s ‘cuz I was thrashing.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Ethan runs a hand through Mark’s loose, messy curls and grabs a clean washcloth. “I think I’m gonna clean these with peroxide, bandage them up, then set you back up in bed with some ice packs, okay?”

At Mark’s silent nod, Ethan smiles. “Okay.” He gently wipes away Mark’s tears with the washcloth, then turns to the medical supplies. 

Cleaning and bandaging the cut on Mark’s chest is simple — by now, Ethan’s a pro at dressing these injuries. It’s the stab wound he’s more concerned about. As he peels off the outer gauze layer that had come loose from Mark’s movement, he sees all the blood that had seeped out past the packing material and considers re-packing it just to be safe, even though he really doesn’t want to put Mark through that right now. If they don’t do it now, though, it’ll just have to be done in the morning — only a few hours away. 

“Mark, I’m really sorry, but we gotta re-pack this,” Ethan says eventually, cleaning around the wound with a peroxide-soaked washcloth. 

Mark whines and looks down at him with pleading eyes. “It can’t last the rest of the night?”

“I don’t think it can. You’ll bleed all over your sheets.” Ethan squeezes Mark’s knee through his sweats and sighs, trying to look and sound as apologetic as possible. “I’ll make it as quick as I can, okay? I promise.”

Mark bites his lip and more tears well up in his eyes. God, he looks so  _ tired;  _ Ethan  _ hates _ himself for doing this. Eventually, though, Mark takes a deep breath and nods his assent. 

Ethan makes quick work of gathering the bowl, gloves, packing solution, and packing material. He fills the bowl with solution, puts on the gloves, steels his stomach, and sets to work. 

The worst part is pulling out the old packing, by far. Ethan tries not to listen to Mark’s gasps and sobs and growls, does his best to look anywhere but at his anguished face. As soon as he pulls the blood-soaked cotton free of the wound, he puts it in the disposal bag and grabs the fresh wad. “Let me know when you’re ready,” he tells Mark, who’s sniffling again and wiping away fresh tears.

A few minutes later, Ethan gets the go-ahead to continue. He does so as quickly as he can, carefully pushing the fresh cotton where it needs to go and not thinking too hard about the pain he’s causing the love of his life. Mark gets through it like a goddamn trooper, though, clenching his jaw and only whining a couple times when Ethan jabs his fingers in a little too hard. 

It’s over not a second too soon. Ethan cleans up around the wound with some extra solution, covers it all up with some gauze and tape, and throws out the gloves. He’s sweaty and exhausted by the end of it, like he always is, but he knows Mark must feel worse — the first time they had to do this out of the hospital, without morphine, he’d actually passed out. 

“I fucking hate that,” Mark whimpers, clawing at the skin just above the gauze patch. “Oh my god, I hate it.”

“You can take another painkiller,” Ethan says, glancing at the digital clock on the bathroom counter — it’s 4:23 a.m. “It’s been almost seven hours already.”

“Thank fucking god.” Mark tries to stand up from the toilet, but he yelps and sits back down with a thump. “Um. Could you —”

“Yeah, one sec.” Ethan hauls himself up from the bathroom floor, washes his hands in the sink, and gets the bottle of oxy out of the medicine cabinet. He’s so happy Mark has such a strong will, otherwise he’d be worried about the frequency at which doctors had told him to take these pills. He fills a small paper cup with water, dumps a pill out of the bottle, and gives it to Mark. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Mark takes it and gulps down the water behind it, sighing seconds later as it starts to work its way through his bloodstream. 

Mark also knows Ethan is keeping him accountable and would kick his ass if he tried anything with these drugs, so there’s that too. 

Once the bathroom is sort of cleaned up, Ethan helps Mark back to the bed and gets them both situated back under the covers. He places a large disposable ice pack on Mark's chest, then snuggles right up to Mark’s good side again and switches off the bedside lamp with a burnt-out sigh. 

Before either of them fall asleep, though, Ethan wants to know something. “Mark?”

“Hmm?”

“… D’you wanna talk about that dream? I’ve never seen you that worked up after one.”

Mark pauses. After a moment, he reaches up and takes Ethan’s hand, bringing it up to rest over his heart where it usually does. Swallowing hard, he says softly, “Um. Y-You … The Strahms took you instead of me. And we found you, but, um. I-It happened like you said it did — squad cars everywhere, David coming up from the cellar with me? Except he was with you, a-and he pulled out the gun, and we couldn’t stop him from shooting you. And I … held you, as you died.”

“Oh, god.” Ethan pushes himself up on one elbow and looks down at Mark, who’s tearing up again in the darkness. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry your mind makes you live through shit like that. I … fuck.” He cups Mark’s face with one hand and leans down to touch their foreheads together, closing his eyes. 

“I love you,” Mark says in a choked whisper, wrapping an arm around Ethan’s waist. “I love you so much and the thought of anything like that ever happening to you is … I can’t bear it.”

“It won’t happen,” Ethan promises. “It  _ won’t, _ Mark. What happened to you was horrible and evil but rare, and those psychopaths are gonna be in jail forever. It’s not gonna happen to me, or anyone else you know, _ever.”_

Mark responds by pulling Ethan down into an urgent kiss. It tastes like tears and regret but also love and gratitude, and Ethan savors every second of it. He kisses back until he feels tears streaming down his own cheeks, marveling at his own luck for being able to be here with Mark at all after everything. 

“I love you too,” Ethan whispers fiercely, nipping at Mark’s lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you I love you I love you.”

“‘M not going anywhere, either,” Mark replies as Ethan settles back down against his chest beside the ice pack. “You’re stuck with me.”

Ethan kisses Mark’s sternum and tucks his face against Mark’s neck, sniffling but perfectly content. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

————   
  



End file.
